We are the living graves of murdered beasts
Slaughtered to satisfy our appetites
We never pause to wonder at our feasts
If kine, like men, can possibly have rights
We pray on Sundays that we might have light
To guide our footsteps on the path we tread
We're sick of war - we do not want to fight -
The thoughts of it now fills our heart with dread.
And yet - we gorge ourselves upon the dead!
Like carrion crows we live and feed on meat,
Regardless of the suffering and pain
We cause by doing so. If thus we treat
Defenseless animals for sport or gain,
How can we hope in this world to attain
The peace we say we are so anxious for?

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